Saturday, 9 January 2016

"I will tell you why." He started.
"I will tell you why I still love her."

His friend could do nothing but intently listen
to what he had to say.

"I once asked her to describe people. What
she felt about them. And for the first time she smiled and didn't answer.

Nothing made me feel bad at that moment than my question being the reason of
her silence. Thus I had let it go.

The next day we met, again! And while I greeted
her with a ‘hi’, she answered me with the answer.

She categorized people by calling them - the
words, the moon and the stars.

I couldn't help but ask what she meant out of
the sheer confusion and ambiguity she had created.

And then she continued in a soft voice.

Words, for some people know everything and choose to flaunt themselves.
Moon, as a part of them is always hidden. They will know but they won't show.
Stars, because all they know is how to twinkle. Innocent to everything.

And that is exactly what I love about her. The metaphor. Because that is what she is.

A metaphor, a simile. And there is not even a single metaphor like her. Unique in her own way. Weird. Clumsy and messed. She never talked straight and it was fun deciphering her."

Saturday, 2 January 2016

He was the white words carved into the black
heart,
Displaying himself in bits and pieces,
Shy and calm.

He smiled each night
Thinking that smiling would drive away the loneliness with his fading smile,
When there will be the lack of light.

Alone and aloof, far from the flimsy stars,
He loathed himself for having the scars.

Little did he know how beautiful those scars
made him,
That each night she prayed for a glimpse of his.

He hid behind those cottony clouds, trying hard
not to disturb the world.
He must have cried silently there,
Burying his face in that opaque billow.
She wished he knew that it wasn't a sin to weep on the face of this twirling
earth.

His brokenness was visible and bright,
Broken is beautiful,
He made her realize.

They were just two lonely bodies residing under
the unseen galaxy,
Under the untraveled space.
Little did they know that each night they brighten up each other’s face.
And each considered the other’s absence, a winsome disgrace.

About Me

Sometimes, we feel like expressing ourselves but we fail, we run out of words. All then exists are the wordless thoughts ready to come out of the caged brain.

I am a Literature student at University of Delhi. A sensitive selenophile who believes that writing is a process of catharsis. As F. Scott Fitzgerald said "...catharsis, would enable me to better meet the new day".